Inception Drabbles- AELDWS 2017
by deinvati
Summary: A collection of prompt-based drabbles from the Arthur/Eames Last Drabble Writer Standing challenge 2017.
1. Part of Their World

A/N: Prompt: skin hunger

Genre: AU (can be magical or canon-based)

Word count: up to 500 words

Title: Part of Their World

Summary: When skin is a novel sensation, Eames is going to enjoy every last inch of Arthur's.

* * *

"Tonight?" Eames asked, his canines flashing.

Arthur drifted a little, his tail fins flicking before he quirked an eyebrow and nodded, and Eames felt a greedy thrill run over his scales. He grinned as Arthur swam away, and the excited flip of Arthur's tail was the only sign he gave that he was looking forward to it as much as Eames.

Later that evening as they floated in a warm current, twining together, Eames ran a webbed hand over Arthur's muscled body as they kissed.

"Please, darling," Eames breathed, pulling back to look.

Arthur smirked and with a shimmer, he shifted. The grey-blue of his scales rippled, and in a swirl of bubbles, the scales disappeared into smooth pink skin.

Eames groaned, the gills in his neck fluttering. He reached for Arthur, drawn to him.

"Christ, pet, I love that you can do this."

He ran his darker, rougher hands over Arthur's torso, worshipping, with fingers and lips, the expanse of soft skin. He kissed over the light freckles on his shoulders and touched the sparse hair that trailed over Arthur's chest. He followed the trail down his belly, to where it faded back into scales at his hips.

"Well, I don't do it for everyone," Arthur said, sounding a little breathless.

Eames chuckled, dragging his thumbs over the oddly sensitive nubs on Arthur's chest and listening to him keen.

"I'm glad," Eames murmured and kissed him again. Arthur flipped his tail, sending them in a lazy spiral and Eames watched Arthur stretch out above him, blocking the faint light of the moon and silhouetting himself like prey. Eames grinned hungrily.

He floated closer again, tails bumping together sensuously. He couldn't stop touching Arthur, stroking the skin only he got to see, the adorable indentation on his belly, just above where the scales started again. They still fit together, as before, but Eames reveled in the new sensations under his mouth and hands.

Arthur swallowed. "I'm just glad you like it."

Eames groaned again. "Darling," he said, licking the crease at Arthur's elbow. "How could I not?"

Eames swam behind him, touching his back, his arms, everywhere. He fastened his lips on the smooth sweep of Arthur's neck, sucking. Arthur moaned, arching into him and curling his tail around Eames'. Eames sucked harder, tongue swirling, marking him, a spot that would show through his scales later when he changed back; a private reminder.

When he wound his fingers with Arthur's, slender and vulnerable without their webbing, he tutted at the wrinkles that showed up on Arthur's skin there.

"Almost time," Arthur reminded him.

Eames tried not to clutch him too tight, tried not to swipe at the cherished skin too hard. "But not yet, right?"

Arthur smiled at him, fond and warm. "No, not just yet."


	2. If I Never See You Again

A/N: Prompt: habits and rituals

Genre: canon

Word count: between 300 to 350 words

Title: If I Never See You Again

Summary: Eames had plugged in his own IV line countless times. So why was it so difficult _this_ time?

* * *

Arthur handled PASIV lines like they were part of his arm. He was the one who maintained the machine, rolled the lines away each time, disposed of sharps in the appropriate containers. Neat, efficient, self-assured from years of familiarity with the work and a well-earned confidence.

Eames licked his lips, his brain screaming about how stupid this was, how it went against everything in his personal code, how there wasn't enough money in the world. He'd had years of familiarity too, but suddenly the needle didn't want to slide home, like it didn't want him to go down another level, either.

Then Arthur's clever fingers were there, pulling the line out of his sweaty grip and running one calloused thumb over the skin on the inside of his wrist.

"Security's going to run you down hard," Eames said, just to see the quirk of Arthur's mouth. It was the first thing Arthur had ever said to him, from the first job they'd worked. Eames was already so gone for him, even then; he just hadn't known it at the time.

"And I will lead them on a merry chase," Arthur replied, throwing his own words back at him as he focused on threading the needle into Eames' vein on the first try.

Eames chuckled through the lump in his throat, letting his head fall back in defeat, thumping hard on the floor underneath him. His eyelids shut over the wetness behind them, refusing to admit to such weakness in front of Arthur. He might not be coming back. Of all the jobs, over all the years, this one might be his undoing. He forced his eyes open once more, determined his last view be one of the point man hovering over him.

"Be back before the kick," he said, and he didn't know if it was a request or a promise.

Arthur smirked and met his eyes, confidence in every line of his body. He'd done this a hundred times. "Go to sleep, Mr. Eames."

He closed his eyes again and left himself in Arthur's capable hands.


	3. Are You Alright?

A/N: Prompt: last resort

Genre: pre-canon

Word count: 250 words exactly

Title: Are You Alright?

Summary: Captured and cutoff, but at least they were together. Unfortunately, this time? That might not be a good thing.

* * *

"Right as rain," Eames said the first time. The second, he'd quipped, "Never better. Except for that one—" but he'd interrupted himself by screaming. Arthur gripped the chair he was handcuffed to harder. He stopped asking for a while.

Intermittent screams faded to silence, and when he couldn't bear it, he asked and got a strained, "Yeah."

They didn't touch Arthur. He looked immaculate, and his hearing was impeccable. So when they started in on Eames again, leaving Arthur to listen to his agony, he knew they'd found out about them.

He picked the lock as fast as he could, then waited. At that point, Eames wasn't answering him in words or grunts, and only the rattle of his breathing told Arthur he hadn't lost Eames yet.

He killed everyone. But when he got to Eames, he realized he was too late. By a long shot.

"Please. Dar—"

There was no way he'd survive getting to an extraction point.

"I can't," Arthur wanted to scream. "I _can't_!"

"Prom— promised," Eames breathed, his eyes closed. When Arthur's gun touched his temple, Eames gave a ghost of a smile.

He still almost didn't. But a few seconds later he woke up to Eames' worried face amid a sea of annoyed military lab assistants and felt a sting of grateful tears.

Arthur showed Eames a loaded die the next week. "I won't gamble on you. Not ever again."

Eames rolled a poker chip over his knuckles. "Pity. I'd bet on you every time."


	4. Daydream

A/N: Prompt: anticipation

Genre: PWP (porn without plot)

Word count: under 300 words

Title: Daydream

Summary: Eames said Arthur's got no imagination?! Oh, he has imagination, alright. He has imagination for _days_.

* * *

Arthur scowls as Eames explains, then pretends to take notes. Fuck. Eames is fucking distracting and Arthur realizes he's been watching Eames' lips without hearing a single word that came out of them. But, oh, the way those lips would look wrapped around him. Eames on his knees. Jesus. That mental image alone… Arthur shifts on his chair.

The Eames in front of him is talking about the job and the tip of Eames' tongue pokes out, the way it does when he's thinking. Arthur swallows.

Arthur wants to run his cock over those gorgeous lips. He wants that tongue to wrap around just the head, tiny licks that turn into longer strokes before Eames swallows him down. Christ, he would look so amazing with a face full of Arthur.

Eames turns to gesture to something on the board and those baggy trousers, the ones with the clingy, slightly metallic fabric, hug his ass.

Arthur's fantasy changes from Eames on his knees to Eames on all fours. Ass in the air, panting, pushing back into it, moaning as Arthur's fingers open him, then shouting as he finds that sweet spot— Fuck. Arthur could just imagine how tight Eames would feel as he breached him, sliding in inch by inch until he was stuffed so full he couldn't remember his own name.

Arthur shuts his moleskin and places it strategically on his lap. He frowns thoughtfully at whatever Eames is saying, and he imagines pounding into him, the way all that muscle would look trapped underneath him, begging him.

He wonders if anyone can tell Eames is wearing the vibrating anal toy he placed in him that morning. With a smirk, he reaches into his pocket and thumbs the 'on' switch.

"So," Arthur considers, "he gives himself the idea?"


	5. Wanted: The Prequel

A/N: Prompt: scandal

Genre: historical AU

Word count: between 300 to 400 words

Title: Wanted

Summary: A fast hand with a gun, a loose sense of morals, and a wink that's just a little too familiar.

* * *

Chapter 1: The Prequel  
(This portion didn't get submitted, I just liked it too much to try and cut it down, so I wrote the second part of this for the actual challenge.)

The portly gentleman with the tobacco-stained mustache sitting on the train next to him cleared his throat, then did it again, pointedly. Arthur looked up from his book, irritated, to see him glaring at the man seated across from them.

The man smiled a bland, patronizing smile back, and the walrus next to him frowned and ruffled his newspaper, lifting it higher to block out whatever sight the man provided that didn't appeal. Not that Arthur could figure out what that would have been. The train was crowded, packed with passengers traveling across the flat of the American west, the rails so new they practically smelled like fresh paint. Arthur had gotten on the train early, and the seat in front of him remained unclaimed until seconds before the train started from the station. The man was unremarkable, even though he was handsome, his nondescript brown suit and combed hair doing their best to detract from his aquiline nose and, good lord, sinful looking lips.

Arthur blinked and flushed when he realized the wayward track of his thoughts and saw he was staring at the same time the other man did. His lips quirked and he winked at Arthur. Arthur's face flamed and he immediately slammed his eyes back to his book and refused to look up again.

He'd read the same paragraph three times before the walrus next to him blustered and stiffened, and Arthur looked up reluctantly. The man across from him was staring at Arthur, openly, hungrily, and Arthur felt the heavy gaze zing down his limbs. They locked eyes and Arthur vaguely registered the walrus rustling his newspaper and clearing his throat again before the man looked at over at him and made a kissing motion.

The walrus sucked in an indignant breath, folded up his paper and stood, excusing himself as he went to, presumably, find somewhere else to sit.

The man looked pleased. "Mr. Charles Eames, at your service," he said once they were alone. "You can call me Eames." He extended his hand.

His British accent threw him for a moment and Arthur hesitated but shook it. "Arthur Levine," he offered, the brisk handshake continuing far longer than propriety insisted.

"And where are you headed this fine morning, Arthur?" he said with too much familiarity when he finally dropped Arthur's hand. Arthur decided he didn't mind if Eames was going to roll his name around him his mouth like that. He raised an eyebrow.

"The same place as everyone else on this train," he said, "obviously."

"Ah, yes, but to what end, my good man?"

His crooked smile was uncomfortably charming and Arthur didn't see the harm in telling the truth. "I'm to be the manager of the new bank."

Eames' eyebrows climbed. "You don't say! A smashing waistcoat like that on a bank manager? Hard to imagine."

Arthur preened a bit under his impressed stare and ran a hand down the brocade, self-conscious.

"And you, Mr. Eames?" he said, deflecting.

"Oh, I'm a collector," Eames said.

Arthur cocked his head. "A collector? Of what?"

"Pocket watches, billfolds, ladies jewelry. I collect all sorts."

Arthur blinked his confusion as Eames withdrew a handkerchief from his pocket and tied it over the lower half of his face and stood. He pulled a gun from his waistband and walked the few steps to where the conductor was drowsing at the back of the carriage to wave it lazily under his nose.

"Stop the train," Eames said in a gruff American accent. "Don't make me shoot you and do it myself."

The man nodded and turned to pull the cord and send the signal to the engine room.

"Ladies and gentlemen, can I have your attention!" Eames called as the train slowed. Several other handkerchiefed men stood, also brandishing guns. "Put your valuables in the bags that are being passed around and no one gets hurt."

The men distributed the bags, shouting demands as people cowered. Eames oversaw them, and when the bag reached Arthur, Eames leaned down to whisper, "And don't forget that lovely watch fob, darling." His switch in accents was jarring.

Arthur glared and dropped it in the bag. "You're despicable," he hissed.

Eames just winked. "Oh, you have no idea. But you're going to be the new bank manager, yes? So I'll probably see you soon, Arthur."

He straightened and addressed the carriage again, his voice once again growly and unrecognizable. "Thank you for your cooperation. Have a lovely afternoon."

He and the other men exited the train and Arthur looked out the grimy window to see a waiting group of horses, saddled and ready for the escaping bandits. Eames mounted easily, swinging his leg over and turning the stallion to face the train. He made a motion like he was blowing a kiss, and then turned and raced with his crew across the plains.


	6. Wanted

Chapter 2: The Submission

* * *

Arthur had been the new bank manager for three months before he got the telegram the home office was sending a senior manager for an inspection. He sighed. It had been nice getting to know the dusty gold-mining town on his own, but he steeled himself for what was hopefully an uneventful and _speedy_ visit.

Unsurprisingly though, the entitled bureaucrat they sent second-guessed everything Arthur did while simpering to the townsfolk coming in, using big words without saying anything. Arthur detested him.

Then trouble walked through the bank's front door. The man was dressed in a weathered black duster, scuffed cowboy hat and boots, and black bandana covering the lower half of his face. But Arthur would have recognized those eyes anywhere.

"No," Arthur said with finality. "No, no, no. You can turn around and leave."

"Oh, my, Mr. Levine!" the bank inspector sputtered, "I'm sure there must be some misunderstanding! Surely this gentleman is just here to conduct some business." He yanked Arthur's arm and hissed in his ear, "You cannot judge a customer based on their clothing attire. Surely you've heard the phrase, 'The customer is always right?'"

"Have you ever actually worked with customers before?" Arthur hissed back.

"Well, I declare, Arthur, is that any way to talk to an old friend?" Eames asked, this time in a lazy southern drawl.

Arthur glared.

"Do you… know this man?" the bank inspector asked Arthur, looking dubious.

"No."

"Why, Arthur, I am _crushed_!" Eames said. He still hadn't removed his bandana. "He's joking, of course."

"He… seems to know you."

Arthur scowled. "Mr. Fischer, this man is a liar and a thief, and he is not welcome in this bank."

"Darling, what a horrible thing to say. I've never lied to you, not once. Why, the last time we were… together," Eames said, stressing the innuendo until Mr. Fischer flinched, "Arthur gave me his watch fob simply because I asked for it."

"You had a gun in my face."

"A gun!?" Eames asked. "Is that what we're calling it, now?" Then he winked.

Arthur drew his own gun from behind the counter. "You're not going to rob this bank, Mr. Eames."

Eames _tsk_ ed behind his bandana. "Is that the best you can do, Arthur?" He swung the rifle up from where he'd had it tucked in his duster. "You mustn't be afraid to dream a little bigger, darling."


End file.
